Best 5891 quotes in «freedom quotes» category

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    Sex-positive feminism embraces the entire range of human sexuality and is based on the idea that sexual freedom is an essential component of women's freedom. - Madison Young

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    Shadow is the blue patch where the light doesn’t hit. It is mystery itself, and mystery is the ancients’ ultima Thule, the modern explorer’s Point of Relative Inaccessibility, that boreal point most distant from all known lands. There the twin oceans of beauty and horror meet. The great glaciers are calving. Ice that sifted to earth as snow in the time of Christ shears from the pack with a roar and crumbles to water. It could be that our instruments have not looked deeply enough. The RNA deep in the mantis’s jaw is a beautiful ribbon. Did the crawling Polyphemus moth have in its watery heart one cell, and in that cell one special molecule, and that molecule one hydrogen atom, and round that atom’s nucleus one wild, distant electron that split showed a forest, swaying?

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    [She] discovered what feminism intended to be about, or at least a piece of what it promised to the generations who followed blindly in its wake. The freedom to live one's life apart from any prescribed pathway. The ability to love men and children and jobs but not lose one's self to them. The opportunity to embrace choices rather than just have them.

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    Shahidi mwaminifu na wa kweli anayajua mambo yetu yote tangu kuumbwa hadi mwisho wa dunia yetu. Kwa hiyo, ni kweli unabii lazima utimie. Mungu anataka tuwe na amani ndani ya mioyo yetu lakini anajua si jambo rahisi kwa sababu ya hila za Shetani. Shetani asingekuwepo amani ingekuwepo; watakatifu wasingekuwepo, dunia isingekuwepo. Lakini mlango wa rehema bado haujafungwa. Bado tuna uhuru wa kuchagua mema dhidi ya mabaya.

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    Shame and blame should have no place in our body, mind, or spirit.

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    She cannot be lost because no one is looking for her.

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    she feels still that grasp upon her ankle as if it were a circlet of iron: the embodiment of matrimony. She would be pinned, like the museum butterflies. He would remain free to flutter.

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    She did not feel free; but then she reflected, she really did not know how being free should feel. She supposed it would be a negative sensation, not a positive, a matter of not having rather than having – of not having to strive, of not having to resist, of not having to guard one's little corner, one's bit of shelter; above all of not having to insist, against the will of others, on the sovereignty of one's self.

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    She does not want the world to tell her how to live her life. She does not want the world to put her into a category. She will smile even when not all is good with her. She will believe what should not be. And she will dream wild! She is a bird. She just wants to fly in the wide blue sky!

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    She felt above all, as a sort of categorical imperative, the desire to set Hannah free, to smash up all her eerie magical surroundings, to let the fresh air in at last; even if the result should be some dreadful suffering.

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    She felt rage boiling inside of her, begging to get out, begging to be set free. She succumbed to the supplications of her inner beast. She set her rage free.

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    She had lost herself in this old work, her personality dissolving into it, so that she had been set free. The immortality of the soul lies in its dissolution; this was the cryptic comment that so frustrated Olivier and which Julien had only ever grasped as evidence for the history of a particular school of thought. He had known all about its history, but Julia knew what it meant. He found the realization strangely reassuring.

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    She had all day every day to figure out some decent and satisfying way to live, and yet all she ever seemed to get for all her choices and all her freedom was more miserable. The autobiographer is almost forced to the conclusion that she pitied herself for being so free.

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    She gazed up at the buildings and imagined angels perched on the edge of the roofs; tall slender angels with drooping wings; standing in perfect silence, watching her without expectation as if in an eternal dream: We give you the city. No one is watching. Set yourself free.

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    She had felt, finally, as if she could speak without immediately bumping into the hard shell of her sheltered life, as it she suddenly saw that the solid walls penning her in were actually bars, with spaces between them wide enough to slip through.

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    She felt damned. As though she were marching to her death. She felt like had been sentenced. And yet she felt eerily free.

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    She felt wild and unruly, determined and free.

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    She is my superhero, that kind of a superhero whom you’ll never watch in movies or read about in novels and fairytales. Her heart is her forever superpower, no matter how many times it has been shattered still it can love and give endlessly. She walks with so much pride as if she has never fallen for thousands times , and she brightens up my world each morning as if she hasn’t been crying her heart out all night before she sleeps, and if this can’t be so much admirable then I don’t know what’s worth admiring anymore …

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    she is free her home is wherever she wants it to be because true security can only be found within herself

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    She is intent on pleasing the men that frighten her.

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    She is a rare soul, she has this infectious energy that makes you want to run next to her, she belonged to no one but herself & to anyone that was yet understand themselves, found the missing pieces in her presence.

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    She's a gypsy girl living in a materialistic world, Unattached to most things but in love with life itself.

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    She probably had all the time in the world, Therese thought, probably did nothing all day but what she felt like doing.

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    She stood, a little unsteadily, true, but on her own two feet. “It’s not my blindness that cripples me, it’s everyone else deciding I can’t live because of my blindness. If I stumble, if I run into things and fall and hurt myself it’s because I can and I’m free to do so, Maximus. Because without that freedom I’m just a dull, chained thing and I won’t be that woman anymore. I simply won’t, Maximus.

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    She's a she-wolf. Her nature demands she's dominated, even if she tries to fight it. She'll listen to an amount of force – positive force, not negative force. But leave the run wide open with no boundaries and she won't listen to you at all. All she'll listen to is the call of freedom, even if it leads her straight into a trap. Stop thinking like a human. She's a wolf.

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    She's a sucker for freedom and wildness but doesn't mind being a slave to her curiosity

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    She wanted to be free, and if she could never be free, at least she wanted to be brave - brave enough not to sell herself, no matter what the payment, or the cost of refusing.

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    She was a free bird: queen of the world and laughing.

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    She was always fighting a battle but her smile would never tell you so.

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    She wanted to talk about it, to tell the peasants in the fields and the nobles in their palashos—the cows in the pastures, the very birds in the air— that everything was nothing. It was a delightful thought because it meant (to Tess) that one was free to choose, or decline to choose, without shame or coercion. For someone who was nothing, anything was possible.

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    She was a gypsy, as soon as you unravelled the many layers to her wild spirit she was on her next quest to discover her magic. She was relentless like that, the woman didn't need no body but an open road, a pen and a couple of sunsets.

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    She was completely alone in the world. There was no one at all for her. No one in the world who cared whether she lived or died. Sometimes the horror of that thought threatened to overwhelm her and plunge her down into a bottomless darkness from which there would be no return. If no one in the entire world cared about you, did you really exist at all?

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    She was, I saw, goading herself on: she wanted to Traverse boundaries, as though to prove to herself that she was free.

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    She wasn't the kind of lady that depended on a man and I think that's what made her so irrestible to them, any man she had loved; she wanted ~ and the men that loved her back couldn't handle not being needed, so she showed them the door and grew her own wings as they walked out. Love to her isn't a maybe thing, nor is it attachment and any man whom thinks he will ever own her would be best not to try at all.

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    She was overwhelmed, not merely by the house. It was the freedom of the moment, where she was no longer playing her roles of a mother, a wife. Now, at this moment, in the middle of nowhere, she was just an ordinary woman.

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    She wore her battle scars like wings, looking at her you would never know that once upon a time she forgot how to fly

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    She whispers in my ear with the most perfect voice I have ever heard. She says her name is freedom. She says it's time.

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    She would only let you know her, little by little ~ never giving too much away but willing to share the small parts that make up her life, she falls slowly like that ~ love isn't a maybe thing in her eyes & her heart is the prize, she knows her worth and she will withstand the wait.

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    She never married,' Pellicorne says. 'A waste.' For some of us, Nella thinks, it's a waste to be married.

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    Show me the person ready to step from any, let it be the narrowest, sect of Christian Pharisees into a freer and holier air, and I shall look to find in that person the one of that sect who, in the midst of its darkness and selfish worldliness, mistaken for holiness, has been living a life more obedient than the rest.

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    Sicherheit ist die gut ausbalancierte Freiheit aller.

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    Sí, dijo Pereira, pero si ellos tuvieran razón mi vida no tendría sentido, no tendría sentido haber estudiado Letras en Coimbra y haber creído siempre que la literatura era la cosa más importante del mundo, no tendría sentido que yo dirija la página cultural de ese periódico vespertino en el que no puedo expresar mi opinión y en el que tengo que publicar cuentos del siglo XIX francés, ya nada tendría sentido, y es de eso de lo que siento deseos de arrepentirme, como si yo fuera otra persona y no el Pereira que ha sido siempre periodista, como si tuviera que renegar de algo.

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    Si hablas con la gente, sin embargo, verás que la mayoría tiene mucha más conciencia de lo que limita su libertad que de la libertad misma. Te dirán: "¿Libertad? ¿Pero de qué libertad me hablas? ¿Cómo vamos a ser libres, si nos comen el coco desde la televisión, si los gobernantes nos engañan y nos manipulan, si los terroristas nos amenazan, si las drogas nos esclavizan, y si además me falta dinero para comprarme una moto, que es lo que yo quisiera?" En cuanto te fijes un poco, verás que los que así hablan parece que se están quejando pero en realidad se encuentran muy satisfechos de saber que no son libres. En el fondo piensan: "¡Uf! ¡Menudo peso nos hemos quitado de encima! Como no somos libres, no podemos tener la culpa de lo que nos ocurra..." Pero yo soy seguro de que nadie -nadie- cree de verdad que no es libre, nadie acepta sin más que funciona como un mecanismo inexorable de relojería o como una termita. Uno puede considerar que optar libremente por ciertas cosas en ciertas circunstancias es muy difícil [...] y que es mejor decir que no hay libertad para no reconocer que libremente se prefiere lo más fácil [...]. Pero dentro de las tripas algo insiste en decirnos: "Si tú hubieras querido...".

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    Sikken et arbejde! Alt var gennemsyret af hykleri og løgne. Selv de allermest banale ord og bevægelser var masker, forklædninger, det rene karneval. Og hvad var der blevet af vores fantasi i alt det? Skåret godt og grundigt ned! Selv børnenes fantasi var næsten væk for at der kunne blive plads for den færdigpakkede fantasi, de blev fodret med i skolen og hjemme. For ved at tale til dem, som jeg gjorde, ved at klæde dem på, som jeg gjorde, ved at leve, som vi gjorde, påtvang jeg dem mine love og regler, mine ideer, min smag. Jeg blev klar over, at jeg var dårlig til at lytte til dem, lyttede meget lidt til dem, og at jeg derfor kendte dem dårligt. Takket være dem begyndte jeg igen at lære at gå, at tale, at skrive, at læse, at regne, at le, at elske, at lege. Det var utroligt spændende, mine dage var alt for korte! Sikken et virvar! Alle døre stod åbne, alle fortøjninger var kastet! SIKKEN EN LYKKE!

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    Silence is a cage. These words are my keys.

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    Silence is a cage. These words are my wings.

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    Silence. Montag sat like a carved white stone. The echo of the final hammer on his skull died slowly away into the black cavern where Faber waited for the echoes to subside. And then when the startled dust had settled down about Montag's mind, Faber began, softly, "All right, he's had his say. You must take it in. I'll say my say, too, in the next hours. And you'll take it in. And you'll try to judge them and make your decisions as to which way to jump, or fall. But I want it to be your decision, not mine, and not the Captain's. But remember that the Captain belongs to the most dangerous enemy to truth and freedom, the solid unmoving cattle of the majority. We all have our harps to play. And it's up to you now to know with which ear you'll listen.

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    Silence gives you freedom to talk with yourself fearlessly

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    Silence gives you freedom to talk yourself fearlessly

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    Şimdi dikenler, şurada, ayağımın dibinde, iri şimşirler gibi güzel, etli, usareyle dolu fakat hareketsizdiler. Yerlerinden kımıldamıyorlardı, çünkü henüz ağustos başlarındaydık. Bir aya kadar onlarla birlikte koşacak mıydık? Nereye götürdüklerini, nereye gittiklerini öğrenecek miydim? Çoğunun bir sobada çatırtılarla yanıp kül olduğunu biliyordum. Ama ya ötekiler? Ya o 'macera yaratanlar?' Onlar bir çocuğun gözlerine hangi memleketleri gösterirlerdi; bazılarının talihlerini değiştirmeyi nasıl başarırlardı? Bana çılgınlıklar anlatacak, yalan söylese de zararı yok, bir parça hayal kurmama, cesaret göstermeme olanak verecek biriyle konuşmayı ne kadar istiyordum! Dikenlerse hayal ve cesaretten, insanı sahip olduğu şeyleri, olabileceği şeylere fedaya çağıran bir davetten ibarettir: Bu şeyler elde bulunanlardan daha beter olsalar da ne çıkar? Bütün yeryüzünü sevenler için, olduğu yerde çürümekten daha kötü ne vardır?